Harry's Fault
by MBP
Summary: Starting in their fourth year at Hogwarts, someone dies every year, and Harry always feels responsible. It's up to the people who love him to convince him he isn't. HarryWeasleycentric. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine; this story is.

**A/N: ****I don't know what possessed me to go Harry-centric as opposed to Weasley-centric, but they will have a large role in this story as you will see from the first chapter. This one is set at the end of Goblet. Subsequent chapters will take us through the next three books.**

_It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault._

Harry doesn't know if he'll ever get those words out of his mind. They are like an echo. He hears them with every step he takes, and whenever anyone else starts talking to him, their words sound like buzzing in his ears, drowned out by the endless echo.

He needs to get away from all of these people, but whenever he turns around, Ron or Hermione – or both of them – are there. They don't understand. He doesn't deserve their company, their friendship. It is all his fault – his fault Cedric died, his fault that the school is sunk into this gloom, his fault that Cho, apparently, hasn't stopped crying… he shakes his head. He can't think about that, not now with his friends trailing him once again as they walk in the direction of Hagrid's hut.

"What time does it start?" he hears Ron ask Hermione, and he tries not to listen to her answer, tries not to think about where they have to go this afternoon.

Have to go… why _did_ he have to go? If anyone shouldn't be at Cedric's memorial service, it's him. No one wants him there, after all. If he hadn't insisted that Cedric grab that cup with him, he would be here right now, and there wouldn't have to be a memorial service at all.

"You two go on," he suddenly says, turning around. Ignoring the looks of surprise on their faces, he adds shortly, "I'm skipping the service. I'll – I'll see you back at the castle."

Before either of them can argue with him, can try to insist that he _has_ to be there (Ron), that he _has_ to get this kind of closure (Hermione), he beats a hasty retreat. He doesn't even care where he goes as long as he goes by himself.

He doesn't turn back. He just keeps going, ignoring their cries for him to stop, to wait, to listen. He can't do any of it anymore. He can't stop, wait, or listen to anyone. He just needs to be by himself, and he can't understand why they even want him around anyway. Not when everything is all his fault.

He finds himself alone on the bank of the lake, and he walks along slowly, finally starting to relax a little. It isn't that he doesn't appreciate his friends or their attention. He knows they are only hovering because they care, but they can't possibly understand how he feels just now. No one can.

He walks until he finds a large tree that provides some measure of shade, and he sits down, his back against the trunk, and closes his eyes. Deep breathing will help, he thinks, and he sighs. Something has to help.

His eyes are still closed when, moments later, a shadow crosses his eyelids and blocks the sun. He clenches his jaw. He can't yell at them. _They're here because they care they're here because they care they're here because they care_. Finally, he feels calm enough to open his eyes – and his mouth falls open.

Molly Weasley is standing before him, her eyes worried and sympathetic. And he suddenly realizes that she is the person to fear. Neither Ron nor Hermione has the same effect on him that this woman does. He remembers when she hugged him in the hospital wing, and he swallows hard, trying to force a smile. Maybe he can fool her now. Last time, after all, he'd been tired, and everything had been so fresh. He knows deep down that he is stronger than that.

"Hello, dear," she says softly. She gestures to the ground beside him and asks, "would you mind?"

Startled, Harry shakes his head. He hasn't expected her to want to sit there, but here she is, clambering to the ground beside him much more nimbly than he would have given her credit for.

They are silent for a moment, and then she says quietly, "Harry, your friends are worried about you. They really want you to go to the Memorial Service."

Harry takes a deep breath. None of this is Mrs. Weasley's fault. She is simply the messenger, and he knows it.

"I can't go," he says simply. He doesn't look at her, but he can tell from the corner of his eye that she is looking at him. He stares straight ahead.

"Why not?" she asks gently. He stiffens. He doesn't know why he hadn't expected that question. Well, he does know. No one else has asked.

"Because I shouldn't be at Ced – at his memorial." He can't say his name. He hasn't done it yet, and he doesn't know what will happen to him if he does.

He continues to stare straight ahead as he lets out a shaky breath.

Molly's heart hurts. Harry, as much as he might not realize it, has become almost as dear to her as her own children, and she finally recognizes the extent of his pain. She knows that this is the time when she will have to be strong for him. He needs this. He also needs to say all of it even as much as he seems to be resisting.

"Why don't you think you should be there?" she asks. She is careful not to look at him. She knows he needs at least the pretense of privacy even as they sit side by side.

He sighs again. "If it weren't for me, there wouldn't be a memorial," he says in a low voice. His throat aches with unshed tears, but he swallows hard. He can't do this now. He is stronger than this, and besides – he doesn't deserve anyone's sympathy, least of all someone like Molly Weasley.

Molly feels as if her heart will break. "Harry," she says softly, unable to stop herself any longer from turning in his direction. "Harry, why on earth would you say something like that? This is not your fault."

He feels her eyes on him, and he forces himself to look up at last. He can't say a word. He just looks at her, and his eyes fill against his very best efforts to blink away the tears.

"If I hadn't told him to take the cup with me, he'd be here right now," he rasps. He swallows painfully but even as Molly shakes her head, he insists. "He told me to take it, and I wouldn't do it without him."

"Harry," Molly interrupts. "Did you know the cup was a portkey when you got to it?"

Harry shakes his head and starts to speak, but she holds up a hand to stop him. "Did you know You-Know-Who was on the other end?"

He shakes his head again, frustrated. He knows all of this. But – but it doesn't change the fact that he is the one who insisted they share the prize and now Cedric is – well, he's dead.

"It doesn't matter!" he bursts out, and his voice is shaking terribly. He tries to take another deep breath but it catches in his throat. "He – he's gone, and it's because I made him do that."

"Would you have told him to do this if you'd known it was dangerous? No," Molly says before Harry can answer. "You wanted to share the glory. If you'd known this was going to happen, you wouldn't have even taken it yourself. You didn't lead him into any kind of danger, Harry. You are the only one who thinks you did, and it's not like there are any details you're not telling that should make you think any differently from the rest of us. I know you feel responsible, sweetheart, but you have to understand that this is NOT your fault. Terrible things happen to good people when You-Know-Who is involved. You – you, of all people, know that."

Harry looks down at the grass, but he nods almost imperceptibly. Logically, maybe she is right, but it still doesn't change the fact that Cedric is gone, nor does it change the image that is still frozen in Harry's mind, the image of Cedric falling to Voldemort's curse.

"I know," he whispers. "But – but I can still see it."

Molly inhales sharply. She shifts closer to Harry and says quietly, "You're talking about what happened that night?"

He nods again. He can't look up. Then she'll see. He can't let her see. But he underestimates the power of a mother.

Molly recognizes the moment when he loses control even though he doesn't know that, and he is still staring at the ground when she can't hold herself back any longer. He needs her now even if he doesn't know that either, and she moves over to him, gently putting an arm around his shoulders.

All it takes is her touch. That's always all it takes, but it usually happens with the redheaded boys who populate the Burrow. This time, the dark haired boy hardly knows what's happening as he finds himself turning to bury his face in her shoulder, his arms encircling her as the tears come hot and fast. He tries to take deep breaths, but they aren't working anymore, and he finds himself sobbing in a way he can't ever remember doing before. Molly's soothing noises eventually work, but it is many minutes later when Harry is finally able to let go, to wipe his eyes with the palms of his hands, and to look completely ashamed.

Molly shakes her head, her eyes pained. "It's ok, Harry. This will be between the two of us. I won't tell Ron."

Now he seems to relax while also looking somewhat apologetic.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. For – for everything."

She tries to smile at him, but it is hard. "I'm always here if you need me, dear. I hope you know that?"

Harry nods. It's clear that he is still miserable, but the sharpness of his anguish seems to have dulled, and Molly finds herself saying, "Are you – are you going to go back now? There's still the Memorial…"

Harry looks at her for a moment and then nods. He pushes himself to his feet and then reaches down to help her to hers.

They are walking silently back to the castle when he mumbles, "I'll go, but I want to stay in the back."

Molly nods understandingly. "That's fair," she says quietly.

They are almost back when he asks, haltingly, "Will you – will you stay with me? I'll understand if you want to sit with Ron," he adds quickly.

She stops walking, and he does too, turning to her in surprise.

"Harry, I think Ron and Hermione will want to sit with us too," she says, and he flushes. He hasn't even thought of that, but after a moment's consideration, he nods.

"Ok," he says slowly.

And it is.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is mine; Harry Potter is not. The words in italics belong to J.K. Rowling and come straight from Goblet of Fire.

**A/N: I didn't expect to write another chapter about Cedric, but some reviewers suggested I might, so here it is. Like I did with the previous chapter (when I went back and changed it), this is in the present tense. I just found myself switching to it and liked it better in this case, so here it is. I think this might be it for the Cedric one, though. Next chapter will move on to Order of the Phoenix. There will be a lot more for that one. I think each succeeding book will have more chapters dedicated to them (naturally). Please review!**

They have the decency not to look surprised. Harry is grateful for their automatic acceptance of his reappearance as well as the absence of any questions. Then again, he does miss the stern look that Molly shoots Ron when he opens his mouth to ask where they've been. Without a word, the four of them settle themselves on the bench closest to the door in the Great Hall, Harry making sure that he is sitting on the end closest to the exit. Hermione sits beside him with Ron next to her and Molly on the other end.

For a few minutes, they merely look around at the faces filling the Hall, and Hermione feels a pit in her stomach as she watches the Hufflepuffs enter, their faces white and their eyes red. She swallows hard. She can't imagine what it would be like to attend a memorial service for a Gryffindor. This is hard enough but someone she'd lived with, eaten with, seen day in and day out in the common room for the past four years? It has to be unbearable. A quick glance at Harry makes her realize he is thinking the same thing, but she wonders if he is experiencing the same mind-numbing realization she is – it could have been him.

Shaking her head, she turns her attention back to Dumbledore. She can't think about that now. She can't think about that ever.

But it's hard not to. Dumbledore is speaking, but for the first time in Hermione's memory, she hardly hears what he is saying. She is too aware of her friends on either side of her … of the way Harry is sitting stiff, inflexible, unyielding … of the way Ron is trying to sit, stiff, inflexible, unyielding. She is afraid to look at either of them because she knows it is the last thing either of them wants, but her eyes are filling as much as she tries not to let them, and she wants to be able to turn, to lean on Harry or even Ron, but she can't.

She looks straight ahead, trying to block out the noises coming from the Hufflepuff section of the room, but it's just as impossible to do that as it is to hear what Dumbledore is saying. But then something breaks through.

_"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."_

Now Hermione feels the sobs rolling through her as much as she's trying to stop them, and without even realizing how it's happened, Ron has put his arm around her, and she buries her face in his shoulder, trying not to notice that his shoulder is shaking too, that his breathing sounds shaky in her ear, that he, too, is losing this battle.

They hold onto each other much longer than either of them expects, but when they do let go, Ron turns away quickly, unwilling to let her see his face. He doesn't know why he can't be stronger than this; he hardly knew Cedric after all, but he does know he doesn't want anyone else to know how much this has affected him. He's forgotten that his mother is sitting on his other side. And all it takes is all it always has. She has been watching him and Hermione, and she knows what Hermione does not. This was always going to be hard for Ron. As she wraps her arms tightly around him, allowing him to bury his face in her shoulder, she also knows that he won't want Harry to see this any more than Harry wants her to tell Ron about his own grief. She just doesn't know for how much longer this will be possible.

Harry is still sitting in his seat, but his jaw is clenched, and he is staring straight ahead. He tries not to hear Hermione's sniffling; it's already more than he can handle. He doesn't want to see Ron right now; it would just make things harder for both of them. But he underestimates the power of women.

Hermione isn't oblivious to Harry's pain even as she is caught up in her own. The moment that Ron has hidden his face against his mother, she knows that she has to look the other way. So she does – and she loses her breath.

Harry may not be looking at her, and he may not be crying, but his anguish is just as obvious to her as Ron's had been, and even though she has the feeling that this is the last thing he'll want, she has to let him know she cares, and she puts a hand gently on his shoulder.

He doesn't turn; his eyes sting, but the tears don't fall. He can't let that happen, and they both know it. But he knows it's there. And it helps.

When the service ends, they're walking out, and Hermione sees Cho before Harry does. She wishes she could guide him away before he sees her too, but it's too late. Tears are streaming down her face, and she is clearly having trouble even seeing where she's going, but somehow, she sees Harry. She stumbles toward him, and before any of them realize what's happening, she's thrown her arms around him, and she's sobbing into his shoulder. His face is twisted as he pats her long hair awkwardly, and Ron and Mrs. Weasley hesitate for a moment before continuing on out the door. Hermione, on the other hand, can't leave Harry to do this by himself, so she waits a discreet distance for him to join her.

It takes longer than she expects and, she's sure, than Harry wants, but he does finally manage to give Cho back to her friends, and by the time he's approaching Hermione, she's pretty sure that he's reached the end of his very frayed rope. His eyes are pleading with her to get him out of there, so she does, not even noticing that she's bumping into people in her haste to make a path.

Once they get outside, Harry keeps walking, but this time, Hermione knows she can't let him go alone, and she follows, hoping that Ron is ok and that Mrs. Weasley knows him well enough to know that even if he says he's fine, he really isn't. She's pretty sure she does, though.

Harry leads Hermione to another secluded part of the grounds, and without even acknowledging her presence, he sinks to the ground, pulls his knees to his chest and buries his face in his arms. She just stands, frozen, and watches his shoulders start to shake violently. She doesn't know if he's crying – he hasn't made a sound, after all – but she does know that he knows she's there, and she falls to her knees beside him. This time, when she puts her hand on his shoulder, he looks up at her, and the haunted look in his red eyes brings a lump to her throat, and she just nods, her lip quivering, as he whispers, "It could have been me, Hermione."

"I know," she chokes, and then she's hugging him, and they're rocking back and forth. And she knows that even though this is the hardest day she's ever had with her friends, there will be harder ones. But she also knows that they'll get through them – together.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine; this story is.

**A/N: ****Ok, so THIS is the last Cedric chapter. It serves as the bridge between Cedric and Sirius nicely, and thanks to ****chocoluvr's**** review, it gave me an idea to fill in the gap I didn't even realize would exist.**

Almost an entire summer has gone by, and he is exhausted. Harry doesn't know if he'll ever have an uninterrupted night of sleep again. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Cedric, he sees his parents as they looked when they came out of the wand, he sees Mr. Diggory crouching over his son's body, weeping … and he jolts awake, breathing hard, trying to see clearly himself. It always takes a few minutes before that can happen. And it's happened more times than he'd care to remember or will ever admit. Now that he is at Grimmauld Place, he hopes he'll be able to sleep. After all, here is where people care about him. It should help.

It should. That doesn't mean it will. He still wakes up sweating, and now he's also hoping that Ron won't notice, won't hear his shaky breathing. So far so good… or at least if Ron _has_ noticed, he's had the decency not to say anything. For now, that will have to do.

The days pass. He has his hearing at the Ministry and miraculously is spared an expulsion from Hogwarts. He thinks he is relaxing, but he still can't sleep. Nothing else happens. And then … a day somehow arrives when Mrs. Weasley decides that it will be ok to leave the house (without Harry, of course), but she takes Ron, Hermione, the twins and Ginny to Diagon Alley with her. Remus is out somewhere for the Order, and the only person left in the place with Harry is Sirius. It's nice to be alone with his godfather. It almost feels… normal. It feels like this must be what it's like to have a family. It feels like this is what it could be like… will be like someday for him and Sirius. When this war is over. When they can finally have the home Sirius promised him on the way back from the Shrieking Shack.

They find themselves together in the kitchen, and Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat when Kreacher grumblingly puts cups of tea in front of them, but he settles down when Sirius smiles. It's rare for Sirius to smile these days, but he somehow manages it when Harry's around. Neither of them speaks for a few minutes as they wait for Kreacher to find his way back to his cramped living quarters.

When they are finally alone, Sirius asks quietly, "So how do you think you're going to manage it when you get back to Hogwarts?"

Harry looks at him in bewilderment. "Manage what?" He is genuinely confused.

Sirius looks directly into his eyes. "This not-sleeping thing."

Now the eye contact thing isn't working anymore as Harry feels the flush creeping up his neck and suffusing his face. "I'm sleeping ok," he mumbles, but he knows without even looking at Sirius that his expression is skeptical, that he doesn't believe him. He tries to convince him even though he knows it's pointless.

"I'm fine," he insists, but he knows his voice sounds weaker than it normally does. He clears his throat. "I sleep through the night."

Sirius sighs. "Harry, this really isn't anything to be ashamed of. I understand."

Harry snorts. He can't help it. No one understands, not even Sirius. He wishes he did – he wishes anyone did. But he's resigned himself to the fact that he's alone in this.

Sirius contemplates his godson. He's not sure how deeply he wants to go with this, but he realizes that he might be the only one who can get to Harry, the only one who really can understand – as much as this teenager would argue to the contrary. He sighs again. There doesn't seem to be much of a choice. It's time to talk about the one part of his life he'd like nothing more than to forget.

"I spent 13 years in Azkaban. You think I don't understand what it's like to have a sleepless night? Or many sleepless nights, for that matter?"

And Harry's head comes up as Sirius knows it will, and they stare at each other. But Harry doesn't know what to say now that it's possible someone _does_ understand. He's not sure he wants Sirius to say anything else either. But it's too late for that. Sirius has committed himself to this conversation, and now they're going to have it.

"You feel guilty, don't you," Sirius says, and it's not a question. Harry nods quickly as he looks back down at the table, and Sirius lets out an explosive breath.

"I know how that feels too," he mumbles.

There is silence. Harry is processing what Sirius has just said and realizes he has no idea how to respond to this. Finally, he manages a small, "oh."

Neither of them say anything for a few minutes, and then Sirius says, "Harry, if anyone understands what it's like to feel responsible for another person's death, it's me. I'm the one who told your father to make Peter his secret keeper, after all. If I hadn't, he'd be here with you right now. But he's not. And it's because of a choice I made."

He stops talking. He has to. Now it's his turn to stare at the table top.

And their roles switch. He's hardly aware that Harry has moved at all when he suddenly feels his godson's hand on top of his own, and Harry says huskily, "I'm glad I'm here with you. That wasn't your fault. You didn't know Peter would betray them. You wouldn't have made the switch if you had."

Sirius finally looks up. He is smiling, but it is a sad one. "And you would have told Cedric to take the cup with you if you'd known?"

Harry is frozen. How can he blame himself when he knows that he would gladly kill anyone who told Sirius that his parents' death was his fault? It's as if he's suddenly seeing everything clearly for the first time, but his eyes are burning.

"No," he chokes. He can't look up. He can't let Sirius see. He doesn't expect to feel an arm encircle him or to hear Sirius whisper, "I told your parents I would always be there if you needed me, Harry. I'm here." He doesn't expect this to make him break. But it does.

He still refuses to look up, but he knows Sirius can feel his shoulders shaking, and he takes deep, gasping breaths, trying to regain control. Finally, it works, and he somehow brings himself to look at Sirius.

"Thank you," he whispers, and Sirius nods understandingly. He is already letting go, giving Harry the space to regain his composure and his pride, and once that happens, Harry asks the question that's been bothering him.

"How did you know I wasn't sleeping? Did Ron tell you?"

Sirius shakes his head and smiles. "I pay attention to you, Harry. It's time for you to get used to that. I plan on doing it for a while."

Now Harry smiles too. This is something he can get used to.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

**A/N: ****This is the first of the Sirius ****chapters,**** and it fittingly takes place at Hogwarts. I have an idea for one other Sirius one. If anyone else has any suggestions that don't include ****Remus****, I'm all ears.**

Mornings are the worst. Harry thinks he's getting used to them, but whenever he wakes up, he lies there for a full minute before he remembers. And then it's like it's happening all over again, and he's watching Sirius fall backwards, a triumphant smile on his face and then – nothing. And nothing makes it easier.

There is this huge, aching hole where Sirius used to be. And Harry walks around without seeing anything. Where any other year he would be relaxing now, these days it's all he can do to remember to breathe every morning when he opens his eyes. This time, it really is his fault. And there's no one to tell him otherwise.

Sure, everyone has tried. Well, Ron doesn't know what to say, and Hermione would like for him to open up, but he knows that neither of them holds him responsible for what has happened. Which just makes it worse. Because it _is _his fault. IT'S HIS FAULT. If everyone could just ACCEPT that, then maybe he could move on. But whenever he even gets close to saying it, the other person's face closes down, and he knows he's about to make his argument to yet another brick wall.

So he's stopped talking to everyone. No one understands, and this time is much worse than last time. Because last time, he'd thought no one understood, but it turned out someone did – Sirius. Now … well, he can't let himself think of that because then that lump in his throat starts to swell, and he has to find an excuse to quickly get away from his friends. He's running out of excuses.

There is one brief moment when he thinks that Luna does understand, at least a little, and it does help. But it's brief, and it's Luna, and as much as he's glad they've become friends, she's not the person he wants to talk to. He wants to talk to Sirius.

He can't imagine that he will ever be ok with this. The days pass, and he expects each one to be easier than the last, but it isn't. It's just another day where he can't talk to Sirius, can't imagine a future with him, can't stop thinking that if he hadn't been so bloody STUPID, none of this would have happened. And then he thinks about his conversation with Dumbledore, and on top of all of his fear of the prophecy, he's still so ANGRY. If he'd only not been locked up, he wouldn't have been so quick to get out of the house. He wouldn't have rushed to the ministry to save Harry.

And this is all wandering through his mind on the day before they leave Hogwarts for the summer, and he's wandering through the castle, trying NOT to think about any of it. It's not working, of course, which is why he's wandering through the castle. This is turning out to be one of those bad days, one of those days where he's constantly swallowing around the lump in his throat and is constantly worried that any word might set him off crying so hard that he won't be able to stop. And that hasn't happened yet, and he's not about to let it. So he just keeps walking.

He doesn't even realize where he's ended up at first, but the swampy smell gives it away. It's what's come to be known as the Weasley hallway, and he almost smiles when he sees the small murky greenness roped off from the rest of the hallway. He slows down for the first time all day, and he's just standing there, staring, when a small noise behind him makes him freeze. He's NOT alone, and now it seems like it's too late to keep going.

"Pretty impressive, huh." It's Ginny. Instead of making him relax, he tenses even more. This isn't good. Ginny is one of the few people who reads him. He doesn't know how, but she does. If he so much as looks at her, she'll know how close he really is to completely losing it. He can't look at her.

He continues to stare at the swamp, and she sighs. "Ron and Hermione are worried about you, you know," she says quietly. She seems to be waiting for a response, so he nods. He does know.

When she realizes he's not planning on speaking – or looking at her for that matter – she's not sure if she should even stay here any longer. Maybe he really does want to be alone. But then she remembers how that chocolate egg from Mum made him feel when she brought it to him in the library that day, how he bit his bottom lip and looked terrifyingly close to tears, and she knows she can't leave. But what _can _she do? Is there any way to get him to talk?

It's a full five minutes later when he decides to try.

"What are Ron and Hermione doing now?" he asks. It's a safe question. It won't make him think about anything he doesn't want to think about. But he doesn't anticipate Ginny's answer.

"They're talking about how you feel guilty about what happened. They don't know how to make you see that you aren't."

His breathing changes. She hears it, and she knows what it means, but she also knows this: She can't say anything. She can't look at him. She has to pretend that she _doesn't_ hear it.

He, meanwhile, struggles to stay in control. He knows she can hear him struggle, but he can't exactly walk away now. He just hopes she won't say anything else.

She only manages to wait a minute or so before she says, "It isn't, you know. Your fault. You were there because you loved him. That means that there's no reason for you to feel guilty – about any of this."

He wants to answer her, to tell her she's wrong, but now he's even more afraid of what will happen if he opens his mouth, so he says nothing. She just can't look at him. He can do this as long as she doesn't look at him. But nothing stops Ginny Weasley when she knows the right thing to do even if it is the hard thing.

And when she turns those brown eyes on him, the lump in his throat swells, and no matter how hard he swallows or how fast he blinks, the tears are filling his eyes, and he chokes, "if he hadn't thought I was in trouble, he'd still be in Grimmauld Place now."

Ginny nods, and all of the sympathy she doesn't quite know how to express is in her eyes. Harry looks away, unable to bear the thought of anyone looking at him right then, but Ginny grew up with six older brothers. She's seen her brothers cry even if they won't admit it to anyone else, and she knows what Harry needs.

She approaches him slowly, and even though his head is turned away, she slips an arm around his waist. He instinctively does the same, but he doesn't turn his head, and he doesn't speak. His shaking just grows more violent, and she holds on even more tightly. The only sound in the hallway is Harry's desperate sniffling as he tries unsuccessfully to wrest himself under control. When it takes longer than even Ginny expects, she knows it's time to talk again, and she says the words she's been formulating even as they've been standing here.

"There was always going to be a time when you were in danger, Harry," she says softly. He doesn't look at her, but she knows he's listening. "Sirius would never have forgiven himself if he hadn't tried to rescue you. And make no mistake about it – this happened because of You-Know-Who and NOT because of you. He was controlling your mind. Occlumency lessons be damned, he's stronger than you are right now, and you couldn't have been expected to know that what you were seeing wasn't true."

She runs out of breath, but she also realizes that Harry is calmer, and now he finally looks at her.

"Thanks," he whispers, and even though his eyes are tinged with red, he manages a brief smile – which fades just as quickly. He glances down at his feet, his arm still around her shoulders, and he mumbles, "I just – I miss him. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"No it wasn't," Ginny agrees, and he lets out a shaky breath.

"Let's go back," she suggests a few minutes later once he's calmer. He nods, wiping his face with his sleeve. Neither of them speaks as they walk. The understanding is enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

**A/N: There is a seed in here for one more Sirius chapter. It should be up soon before we move to the next horrid, awful event.**

Harry is so glad to be at the Burrow that he almost cries when he walks in the door; he has to swallow hard and blink rapidly to hold back the tears. This summer … well, his "family" was no worse than usual, but he would hardly know that anyway. He spent every free moment alone in his room, dwelling on the harsh, cold reality that he would never leave them to live with Sirius, never have that happy thought in the back of his mind when they became unbearable, and whenever the thoughts got really bad, he would write a letter to Hermione or Ron. He never sent them, though. There was no need to worry his friends simply because he was sad. He couldn't imagine what kind of letter he'd get back from Hermione if she ever got her hands on one of the letters he wrote her in one of his lowest moments. He flushes when he remembers the tear that splashed on one of the first ones he wrote. But he didn't rip them up. They're in his trunk along with everything else.

But Dumbledore seems to understand – he always does – and when he pulls Harry aside before they even enter the Burrow, he makes it clear that none of the way he's feeling right now is stupid or pathetic or wrong. And it helps. He doesn't know why, and he doesn't know why he isn't angry with Dumbledore anymore, but he reasons that he's losing everyone at such a rapid rate that he can't waste his time on anger. Not like he has to worry about losing Dumbledore. He, at least, is the one person who Harry knows he will always have on his side. That thought, at least, brings him comfort.

And now he's in the Burrow with the ever-so perceptive Molly Weasley hovering and clucking and asking questions. Ron and Hermione are thundering down the stairs to see that he's there at last, that he's really safe and whole and just _there_, that he's with people who actually _care_ about him, and now – there is that lump in his throat. It's been there all summer, and even though he thought he might lose it now, that he might actually feel better, that the feeling of actually coming _home_ might comfort him – all it does is make self-control that much harder.

He can't spend as much time alone anymore. Ron and Hermione and Ginny are there whenever he wakes up, and they don't seem to disappear all that much during the day either. There is only one time when they reluctantly leave him be, and that's the day Remus shows up. They are all surprised, but Harry – Harry is afraid. Because Remus walks into the Burrow, and Harry suddenly realizes that maybe he was wrong about one thing two months ago. Maybe Sirius's death has hurt someone else too.

Remus has never looked particularly happy in all the time Harry has known him, but now he looks positively miserable. It's hard not to see that Molly wants to help him as she ushers him into the Burrow; her surprise is quickly replaced by concern and then a determination to cook. But before she can offer Remus tea, he asks if he can borrow Harry for a bit. Molly and Arthur glance at each other nervously, but Remus smiles.

"I won't take him away," he reassures them quietly. "He and I just need to talk, and I don't see how that would be entirely feasible given the large population of your house. We'll just go outside for a bit. Maybe we'll go to the broom shed."

Now Molly nods, relief clearly written on her face. "Ok," she agrees, and now she is pushing them out the door, in full support of a talk Harry, himself, is pretty sure he would rather not have. But then he and Remus are walking across the grass in the direction of the shed, and then they are walking inside. Harry looks around and wishes he could just grab a broom and fly away. But there is no avoiding this conversation.

Remus gestures for him to sit on a bench, and he complies, albeit not looking at his former professor. He stares at the dusty floor and wonders what Remus could possibly have to say. He finds out.

"Harry, I … I'm sorry I didn't get in touch with you earlier this summer," Remus begins, his voice quiet but the pain coming across loud and clear. Harry still won't look up, but it's obvious that he's listening, and Remus takes a deep breath and continues. "I wanted to because I know how hard this must have been for you, how much you loved Sirius, how much you must miss him…"

And he trails off. Because he's saying everything that Harry can hear from pretty much everyone else and ignore but not from him. Even though Harry still isn't looking at him, Remus knows that he is fighting desperately for control. He knows because it's what he's been doing all summer long.

"Harry, I'm not saying this to make things harder for you. I'm saying it because I understand. For 13 years, I hated Sirius when I thought he'd betrayed your parents. He, James, and Peter were the best friends I ever had, and for a long time, I thought I'd lost them all. But then I got one back. And it was like I had a family again. So I know what it's like to get something that you've always wanted, something that makes you feel loved and like you belong – and then have it stolen away. I do know."

He's been talking over Harry's sniffling, but when he stops, the sound is magnified, and he looks at the only link he still has to the best friends he ever had. Harry's head is down, but his shoulders are shaking, and Remus knows he has to do the one thing he alone can still physically do. He gets up from his seat and sits beside Harry, carefully putting an arm around him. Neither of them speaks, but Harry takes deep, gasping breaths as he tries to regain control, and Remus just sits and waits, not saying another word. No need to make this harder for Harry than it obviously already is.

When Harry finally does seem calmer, they walk back to the house. It's clear to Remus that Harry would like to pretend that none of this has happened, and he wonders if he's made things that much worse when Harry turns to him in the doorway with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Thanks," he whispers. "That helped."

And Remus nods, but he has to turn away and leave before Harry can see him blinking back the tears in his own eyes. He's glad he's still here to help. He's the only one left who can. He just hopes he's up for the challenge.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

**A/N: This is the last of the Sirius chapters. (Apparently the pattern is that it's three chapters per event.) I think there is enough of a setup in here for the next one, though.**

Hermione and Ron look at each other once Harry and Remus have gone, and by mutual silent consent, they turn from the kitchen and go up to Ron's bedroom. Ginny has gone to her own room, and it's clear to Hermione that her friend wishes she could do more to help the boy she clearly cares for, but there's nothing either of them can do about that right now.

"Why do you think Remus came?" Ron asks as they sit side by side on his bed. Hermione tries not to roll her eyes.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it, Ronald? He's as upset about Sirius as Harry is, and he feels responsible for him now that he's the only one left of that group of friends. I think it's good that he came. Harry needs to know that he still has someone out there who cares about him."

"_We_ care about him," Ron says indignantly, and Hermione nods absently, getting up to tidy the room.

"Of course we do, but we're his friends. He needs someone older. That's why this Sirius thing has been so hard for him. It's like losing his parents twice." Her hands still as she thinks about what she's just said, and she shakes her head, staring off into space. "I can't even imagine," she mumbles.

Ron doesn't even answer her now. He can't. Just the thought of losing a parent – or anyone in his family, for that matter – is unfathomable to him, and he'd prefer to keep it that way. He suddenly realizes what Hermione is doing, though, and he sighs with exasperation.

"Will you stop that?" he asks her, and she ignores him. The room looks like a cyclone has hit it, and she moves over to the corner where Harry's things are as she tries to restore some sense of order. She can't blame Mrs. Weasley for not cleaning her sons' rooms. This is hideous.

"Honestly, don't the two of you ever pick anything _up_ when you drop it?" she asks, and Ron is drawing in a breath to strenuously object when he realizes that she's holding something in her hands and that she's suddenly standing very, very still.

"Hermione, what is it?" he asks, and he gets up and crosses the room to her. She turns to him slowly, and she is holding a stack of what must be letters in her hand. He can't understand why her hand is shaking, though.

"So it's letters," he says when she still says nothing. "They must have fallen out of Harry's trunk. What's the big deal?"

Now she turns them to face him, and he is surprised to see her name scrawled untidily across the first paper. He shrugs.

"Well, maybe he was planning on giving it to you and he forgot?"

Still without speaking, she thumbs through the stack and then holds up another for him to see. This one has his name on it, and Ron's eyes widen in surprise.

"Oi," he says, "hand that over."

Hermione looks at him skeptically. "No way. These are Harry's."

"Hermione," Ron says patiently, "our names are on these. The Dursleys probably just wouldn't let Harry let Hedwig out of the cage. I'm sure he was planning on giving them to us."

Hermione is not convinced, but she's also very curious, so she reluctantly sorts through the pile, handing Ron his letters and saving her own. Once she's finished and they each have four letters, they each pull up a corner of Ron's bed and begin reading.

For a long time, neither of them speaks. Hermione reads the last letter through blurred eyes, and when she finishes, she's afraid to look at Ron. If his letters are anything like hers, she can't imagine how HE feels to be reading them – Ron, who has the emotional range of a teaspoon. Finally, she brings herself to put down the letters and look up. Ron is staring into space, a blank look on his face.

"Ron?" she whispers, and he turns to her. He might not be registering any expression whatsoever, but his face is whiter than it was when he started reading, and his freckles stand out. This is how she knows that he's feeling this too, this despair that is now threatening to engulf her. And that's when they hear Harry's footsteps on the stairs.

"Quick," she hisses, grabbing the letters from Ron and leaping across the room to shove them back in the trunk. She suddenly knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harry CANNOT find them with these letters in their hands. Nothing could be clearer to her right now than the fact that these were never something they were supposed to read.

She just makes it back to the bed in time for Harry to open the door and come inside. He jumps in surprise to see both of them, and then he tugs uncomfortably at his hair, making it even messier than it normally is. Hermione catches a glimpse of his eyes and immediately understands why, and she is about to find a tactful way to leave Harry alone when he notices that someone's been in his trunk.

"What's going on in here?" he asks as he walks over to the corner of the room. He turns to Ron. "Were you looking for something? You could have just asked …." He stops. Because the letters he inexplicably never threw away are suddenly on top of everything else, and it's obvious that they've been unfolded and – with all likelihood – read. He is frozen in place and doesn't know whether to scream at his friends or try to hide from them.

Very slowly, he turns around, and now he sees something he hadn't noticed when he entered the room. Hermione looks like she's on the verge of tears, and Ron – Ron looks like someone has clubbed him over the head. And Harry knows he has to try to laugh this off, or he'll be facing looks like these from the two of them for the rest of the summer if not the entire school year.

He tries to force a smile (even though he's pretty sure it looks more like a grimace) and says, "I see you found the decoys I was leaving for the Dursleys. I figured it'd make them feel sorry for me and maybe even let me play Dudley's video games. It didn't work, but it was worth a shot, right?"

He is disappointed in himself. Five years in Hogwarts getting out of all sorts of terrifying scrapes, and the best he can come up with is video games?

Hermione sighs. "Harry, it's ok," she says softly. Her voice is shaky, and he suddenly can't look at her. It would almost be better if Ron had said something because Harry's willing to bet that Ron is just eager as he is to pretend things are normal. Hermione won't do that. And now she's talking again.

"We're sorry we read them," she continues, "but I was trying to clean up in here, and then I saw those, and our names were on them. We would NEVER have picked them up if they hadn't been."

Harry nods abruptly. He knows. And that's really all that needs to be said.

"Ok," he says shortly. He won't look at Hermione, but he hopes she'll take the hint. He is aware of Ron sending Hermione a _stop talking_ look, but she shakes her head impatiently.

"We're worried about you," she says quietly. "Those letters – well, you sounded pretty awful in them. We just want to make sure that you know that you really _aren't_ alone. We're here. We always will be."

Harry is horrified to realize that the lump is in his throat again. He swallows hard. "Thanks," he whispers. "I do know."

He is staring at his feet when he is aware of a movement out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't need to look up to know that Hermione has moved to sit beside him, and he hopes with all of his might that she won't touch him. It might even be ok if they were alone, but Ron is there and he can NOT hear him cry. But it turns out that Ron wants that even less than he does, and he suddenly bolts from the room.

Harry has no time to think about why Ron has run or what he must think of him now because Hermione has put her hand on his shoulder. And even as he struggles to hold it all in, he knows he's fighting a losing battle, so he does the only thing he can think of to keep Hermione from looking at him. He grabs her into a crushing hug, burying his face in her shoulder, hoping this will muffle the sobs he can no longer suppress. And she holds on tightly in silence, knowing that speech is the last thing he needs right now.

It's a long time before he lets go, and Hermione is tactful enough to look away to give him a chance to wipe his eyes and compose himself. And when Ron comes back in a few minutes later, she knows he'd been waiting in the hall, and she is floored by _his_ tact – which is only more impressive when he smoothly starts a conversation about Quidditch, also giving Harry a chance to regain his pride.

They really are best friends, Hermione realizes. She just wonders if they'll ever let the other be there when it really counts.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

**A/N: Oddly, I feel like this might be the only Dumbledore chapter unless I get some really great suggestions. I just don't feel like there's that much guilt here. Well, review. Let me know what you think of this and if there should be another before I move on to the rest.**

He's so tired of thinking it's his fault. He's so tired of feeling like it's his fault. But most of all, he's so tired of losing people.

People… Dumbledore was never people. He was _… is_ … Dumbledore, for Godrics' sake. He can't be dead. And if Harry refuses to accept it, then it can't be true. And as much as he knows – he _knows_ that things don't work that way, for once he's willing to pretend they do. The alternative – well, it's just too hard.

It isn't even hardest for him this time. Except of course he thinks it is. But everyone else is also grieving this loss and some maybe even as intensely as Harry. But to think about that – to think about how Remus fell into a chair and covered his face when he heard the news – to think about how McGonagall – _McGonagall_, of all people – cried when she heard – to think about Ron's disbelief – about Bill's scars – well, it's just too much to think about. Because he's pretty sure that he was the only one there when Dumbledore died and that even if he finds a way NOT to blame himself this time, someone else will.

But even he can't dwell on this now. What he can't stop dwelling on is that in just a few short hours, he will have to go to another Memorial Service, and if he thought Cedric's was bad, well, then he'd better start running now because he knows nothing will ever compare to Dumbledore's.

He sits up in his bed at last, finally abandoning the idea of any more sleep. The hangings are still drawn, and when he pulls them back, he can see through a break in Ron's that he's awake too. He's lying on his side, staring out the window, but when he sees the movement of Harry's curtains, he tries to force a smile.

"Morning," he says quietly in an effort not to wake Dean, Seamus or Neville.

"Morning," Harry responds. Ron reaches over and twitches the bedclothes so he can see his friend better.

"Are you ready for today?" he asks. He grimaces. "It's going to be bloody awful."

Harry nods his agreement. There is no doubt about it. Ron is unequivocally right about that.

For a while, neither of them says anything. Then Harry realizes something. "Will Bill be able to come?"

Ron's face suddenly looks different when he thinks of his oldest brother, and he shakes his head slowly.

"I don't think so," he mutters. "Mum said something about keeping him in bed until the scars stop opening on their own."

Harry sighs. "I'm sorry," he starts to say, but Ron shakes his head impatiently. "Leave it," he says shortly. "He'll be fine. You heard Madame Pomfrey. No reason to worry."

Harry nods slowly, realizing that Ron will not accept any sympathy for his brother's injuries because he simply cannot accept the thought that anything happened to Bill, all evidence – and scars – to the contrary.

"Ok," he says, and then he realizes that they'd better start getting ready if they want to have any chance of getting seats today. This memorial is the last place he wants to be, but there is no doubt in his mind that Dumbledore deserves his attendance and his punctuality. He will not be late.

Without another word, the boys prepare themselves for a day that they both very much dread. They do not need to speak to know that they share this mutual anxiety, and it helps both of them to know that they are in this together even if they would never say that aloud.

When they are ready, they find their way to a very quiet, very somber Gryffindor common room. They are quickly joined by Hermione, Ginny and Neville. The five of them move as one to the Great Hall where Ron and Ginny's siblings and parents await them, minus Bill and Fleur. He is still in the hospital wing, and Fleur will not leave his side for a moment. Harry knows that he still detects a measure of awe in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, and he knows this is why. He hopes, for Fleur's sake, that these warm feelings last.

The twins are there, and Harry feels a pain in his throat when he sees them. They are still Fred and George, of course – they will always be Gred and Forge – but their brashness is all but gone. They are simply standing there together, and they aren't talking. Every now and then, Fred will whisper something to George, or George to Fred, but neither of them even _tries _to make a joke. Harry knows that every single Weasley's mind is really with Bill right now, but he hopes, selfishly, that the twins will get their smiles back soon. They none of them will make it through this if Fred and George can't smile. But he knows he can't expect them to smile today. He can't expect anyone to smile today.

Yet – they walk down to the chairs that are set up by the lake, and he finds himself almost on the verge of hysterical laughter. He is confused and more than a little disappointed. This isn't the respect Dumbledore deserves. How could he be laughing at _Dumbledore's_ funeral? He is caught up wondering about this when he realizes that they've reached an empty row, and he leads the way in, determined to sit on the end, determined to have the option of turning his face away if it gets too hard. But – he still finds himself fighting the urge to smile. He is furiously trying to keep a straight face when he feels a warm hand in his own, and the urge to laugh disappears entirely. He turns to see Ginny watching him with a look of pure understanding, and he looks down. His hand had been shaking. And then he realizes – it is the nerves that are making him want to laugh. Because right now, there is nothing he wants to do less than laugh.

He squeezes her hand tightly, glad for its strength, and she returns the pressure.

The service starts. Harry doesn't want to listen, but he also doesn't want to look around. This is hard enough for him to accept. He doesn't want to think about – or see – how hard it is for everyone else.

It turns out he can't even look straight ahead because then he starts to think, and when he starts to think, he starts to remember, and when he starts to remember, the enormity of what's happened comes crashing down on him in a wave of grief quite unlike any he ever remembers feeling before. And for the first time that it's ever happened in a group of people, it is impossible for him to control his tears, and so he turns his face away as the tears fall, hoping no one will know.

When the service ends, he feels Ginny's pressure on his hand again, and he slowly turns back to face her. The compassion in her face as well as the clear understanding are a balm to his wound, but then he makes the mistake. He looks around.

Hermione has given up on trying to stay strong for her friends. She is sobbing, and Ron is holding her closely, protectively, even as tears run down his own face. Harry has to look away. It is the first time he has seen Ron cry. He hopes it is the last. Ron – well, he's not supposed to look that way.

But neither is anybody else. He can't help his eyes from wandering over the assembled group, and the grief he sees turns his stomach.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both look so sad, so serious, so _worried_, and he knows that while they mourn the loss of Dumbledore, they are also thinking of Bill. They are wondering if his scars are healing; they are wondering what this war will bring; they are afraid for the safety of the rest of their children. He wishes he could go to them, promise them that he will NOT let ANYTHING happen to this family that has taken him in as one of their own, that Dumbledore is the last person who will die while he is watching, but he is frozen to his chair. He contents himself with making these promises in his head. That will have to do.

But just as he's starting to feel the slightest bit easier, his gaze lands on the twins again. They still haven't found their smiles. In fact – well, he's pretty sure he must be reading them wrong, but from where he's sitting, it looks to him like George is staring so hard at the chair in front of his that he might actually burn holes in it, and Fred – well, Fred wouldn't be able to burn holes in anything. But no. Those can't be tears in his eyes. Fred Weasley wouldn't cry. Harry looks away quickly. If he does … he doesn't want to know about it.

He is surprised to find himself wishing that Bill were here. He doesn't even know the oldest Weasley that well, but he knows that part of his best friend's grief, part of this family's sadness, is in the hospital wing, and he wishes he could fix Bill, erase all of their pain, and just make things go back to the way they were. But he remembers his promise. Nothing else will hurt this family. He looks at Ginny. He has his mission from Dumbledore, and he will accomplish it. But this – this is just as important, and he knows he will accomplish this as well. There is no alternative.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine; this story is.

**A/N: This chapter was hard to ****write**** for a number of reasons**** but mostly because this is where I think we find Harry really hitting rock bottom. ****The next chapter will focus much more on the Weasleys. It might be the last one. I guess I'll just see where it goes.**** There's definitely a setup for it at the end of this one.**

He failed. He broke his promise. He will never make a promise again.

They're all in the Great Hall, and he can't bring himself to go back in. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Because he knows that no one else will _say_ that he failed. He knows a lot of people will even think he did a wonderful thing, a great thing, and yes, he knows. He defeated Voldemort. He saved the world. But Ginny… Ginny was crying… Ginny doesn't cry.

They leave Dumbledore's office, and Ron and Hermione go back into the Hall, and neither of them asks him if he is going to join them. He knows that they assume he will be right behind them, but he bolts for the Gryffindor common room the moment they walk through the door.

It is too much. With every step he takes, the lump in his throat grows, and he can't help but think that the common room has never seemed farther away. As his feet speed up, he tries not to think about everything he is trying to escape, and part of him can't help but feeling like this is supposed to be a happy time. He is alive; Voldemort is dead. The confrontation he has been hurtling towards since the day of his birth is over at last, and he won. But… at what cost? Lupin is gone. Tonks is gone. Fred is… no. He can't even finish that sentence in his mind because it is so wrong, so completely and terribly and wholly _wrong_. He moves faster. He is still out in the open. It is still too soon to think.

When he reaches the portrait of the Fat Lady, he realizes he does not know the password, but it is obvious that she has heard what's happened, what he's done (and really, is it that great? Wouldn't the Weasleys trade it all just to have Fred back?), and she lets him in gladly. But no one is more relieved than Harry to see that the room is empty and that he is finally, blessedly, alone.

Without even thinking anymore about what he is doing, he flings himself face down on the couch and buries his face in a pillow, wrapping his arms tightly around it. The thought flits through his mind that he would much rather be holding Ginny, but then he gets angry with himself. The last person she'd want to be with right now is him. He is the reason, after all, why she is crying.

And now – the lump in his throat dissolves. He lies there until the pillow in his arms is thoroughly soaked, and then he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Maybe he can go back now, try to see if the Weasleys will even speak to him, see if there is anything he can do to assuage this guilt. Because this time, there was a choice. And he made the wrong one.

He pushes himself to a sitting position and then sits there motionless, staring at the fireplace. He sees Sirius's head there; he sees himself studying with Ron and Hermione; he sees the twins... He shakes his head. Now he can't see anything. He buries his head in his hands. No. He can't leave. He can hardly breathe.

He hasn't moved for what feels like hours (but is really only minutes) when he hears someone climbing through the portrait. He freezes and keeps his hands over his face. He doesn't want to see anyone now, and he certainly can't talk to anyone either. No one will understand how he could be this miserable, and he couldn't possibly explain it now anyway. He hopes that whoever it is will just … go away.

But, of course, that doesn't happen. The couch shifts beside him, and then he feels a hand on his shoulder. He still won't remove his hands. He doesn't care who it is. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"Harry – Harry you need to come down and be with everyone."

It's Hermione. Of course it is. There is no one else who would have the courage to come find him, to sit with him, to _touch_ him at this moment. Slowly, he takes his hands away. He won't look at her, but as much as he hates for anyone to ever see any evidence of his weakness, Hermione is the exception. She's seen it before.

He shakes his head in disbelief. "Be with everyone?" he rasps. "Hermione, I'm the _last_ person who should be there right now. I'm the reason all of those people are – they're –" and he can't even say the word. He shakes his head. "No. I can't go down there."

Hermione sighs. "Harry," she says gently, "don't you think Ginny needs you right now? Her _brother_…"

She can't say anymore. Because suddenly, Harry is looking at her, and his eyes are shining.

"Fred." It's all he can say, but every ounce of pain he has been trying not to feel comes rushing back, and he knows the control he'd somehow managed to regain is slipping away dangerously fast. He turns away again, but Hermione moves closer to him and quietly takes his hand.

She doesn't speak. She just sits there and lets him cry, and he squeezes her hand tightly even though he won't let her see his face. When his breath is coming in hitching sobs, he finally removes his hand, and he turns back to her at last.

"How can I go down there?" he asks, and the despair in his voice puts a lump in Hermione's throat.

She reaches over and takes his hand back. "You just do," she says simply. "And you realize that you saved the world. And that everyone who fought in this battle knew the risks – include – including Fred. He did," she insists when Harry shakes his head. "Everyone did."

"But it's my fault," he whispers. "And now Ginny and Ron and Bill and Charlie and Percy and – and George…" He trails off again, and for a moment, even Hermione can't find the words. But then she clears her throat and says, "They don't blame you. And you need to come down there now because if you don't, you _will_ make things harder for them. You need Ginny right now, Harry. And she needs you."

Hermione doesn't even know what she's just done. She isn't asking if he thinks Ginny needs him. She's saying it, and now he has to go to the Great Hall. He lets her pull him up off the couch, and he lets her lead him back to the family he loves but has failed. But when he goes inside and Ginny takes one look at him and throws herself into his arms, he buries his face in her hair. It isn't ok. It will never be ok. But he doesn't have the strength to deal with that right now.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

**A/N: This might be the saddest chapter I've ever written of anything. I think it has shadows of Bad Mum's latest masterpiece, but I'm only sticking with this idea for one chapter, and then it goes in a different direction. (So this does mean there will be a few more chapters.) This one's for you, though, Katy. You've completely inspired me, in case you couldn't tell.**

Harry doesn't belong in the Burrow. But Hermione does. Ron needs her, and anyone with any sense can see that. But as much as those same people might argue that Ginny needs him just as much, he'd have to tell them that they're wrong. Ginny just isn't thinking straight right now. If she were, she'd know that he is the last person who should be by her side right now. But he is the only one who knows this.

Ginny won't let go of his hand. Even when they are with the rest of her family, she clenches it tightly, and he just sits beside her silently. The conversations go on and on. The arrangements seem endless. Whenever anyone says the word 'funeral' or even Fred's name, her grip on his hand grows tighter. She hasn't cried since Hogwarts. But she won't let go of his hand either.

Mrs. Weasley wants him there. She tells him this everyday, and he knows she is worried that he might just disappear. He won't, though. He couldn't do that to her, not now, not when she can't stop crying. He can hardly bring himself to look at her. Whenever he does, he feels a pit in his stomach, and he remembers the Boggart at Grimmauld Place. This was never supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be her worst nightmare. It was never supposed to be reality.

Mr. Weasley seems to take comfort in having him there too. Whenever the conversations get to be too much, he has come to expect Mr. Weasley to lean over and ask a completely irrelevant question about spark plugs. He couldn't explain why, but if it makes him feel better about any of this, Harry is willing to go out and buy him a lifetime supply. It's the least he can do.

He can't do anything for Bill or Charlie. They are the Weasley brothers he's always known the least, so he doesn't even know how they feel about having him there. If he were in their shoes, he'd want him to leave. It's his fault they're all planning this funeral anyway. But he knows, as much as he doesn't understand why, that this is the last thing on their minds. Bill walks around the house, looking like he's always concentrating on something, and maybe he is. In one of their rare moments of conversation, Ginny whispers that Bill's concentrating on not crying. Harry looks at him and then quickly looks away. None of them have seen Bill cry, and Harry knows that Ginny is right. If Bill has anything to say about it, none of them will.

Charlie, on the other hand – Harry's a little afraid of him. Because he walks around the house too, but he doesn't look like he's concentrating like Bill does. He looks like he's on the verge of … something, and Harry doesn't think it's tears. At first he thinks that maybe Charlie does blame him, but in that same whispered moment, Ginny whispers that Charlie is mad at himself for not getting to the Battle until it was too late. So maybe he blames himself too. Harry wishes he could just get Charlie alone for one minute. Then he'd really clear up just whose fault this is.

Percy thinks it's his fault. Harry knows this, and he wishes he could talk to him, shake some sense into him, but he can't get near him. Whenever Ginny lets go of his hand for one moment, it's to go to Percy, herself. Because she and their mother are the only people he's letting anywhere near him, and even though Harry knows how hard it is for her because of how tightly she takes his hand when she comes back, he also knows that Percy needs those hugs badly. Anyone who looks at him can see that. He's gone from knowing everything to not knowing how to stop crying. Harry can't blame him. But he can't cry. He doesn't deserve to. He hasn't cried since the common room with Hermione, and he isn't planning on doing it again anytime soon. The Weasleys are shedding enough tears for everyone anyway…

Well, except Ron. Harry remembers when he saw the tears running down Ron's face as Dumbledore's funeral and his fervent wish that he never see that again, and he is still surprised that he hasn't. The hallway during the Battle doesn't really count. They were all in shock. But now – well, maybe he isn't that surprised. Because Ron might not be crying, but he is whiter than Harry thinks any living person should be, and he hasn't stopped shaking since the Battle ended. Hermione is the only reason he is still functioning, and everybody knows it. He will cry eventually. Harry knows that. He just devoutly hopes that Hermione is the only person there when it happens. Because as Harry well knows, she is the only person who can make it seem like everything isn't going to break apart.

But George – Harry looks at him, and he suddenly has to swallow a lump in his throat. George hasn't moved from the corner of the living room in the two days that they've been back. He looks like he's seeing something none of the rest of them can, and the only people who've had the courage to go near him are Ginny and Bill. He doesn't acknowledge either of them when they wrap their arms around him, and Harry swears that Bill has tears in his eyes one day when he finally breaks the embrace and hurries from the room. Only Fleur goes after him, and George just sits there. Harry would have thought that George would want privacy, but he also knows that George must be terrified of facing that room by himself. That room which, if it weren't for Harry's cowardice, would still have two living, breathing twins in it.

And then no one would be crying and no one would be arranging funerals and Ron would stop shaking and Ginny would smile again and things would be the way they were supposed to be. But they're not. Because he was a coward. And it's all his fault.

He can't stay in the room anymore, but even as he presses his lips to Ginny's hair and murmurs a quick excuse, he knows that he can't go far. He has to stay with the Weasleys and bear their pain with them. He doesn't belong even if none of them will say it, but he stays anyway. He would never tell Ginny, but this is his punishment. And no one can make him feel like he doesn't deserve every bit of it.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine; this story is.

**A/N: This might have to be the last Weasley chapter. It took me forever, and I still don't know if it turned out quite the way I thought it would, but it is what it is. There will only be a couple more.**

Fred's funeral is over, but Harry feels even worse than he did before, and he wonders how that's possible. But whenever he closes his eyes at night, he sees images he knows he will never forget. He wants to forget…

That it rained. That Ginny was shaking the whole day. That Percy almost didn't go. That Charlie was only the reason Percy even made it to the graveyard. That Bill stood white faced and blinking hard the whole time, disappearing for minutes at a time, only to return with his eyes red and swollen. That George wouldn't even speak to anyone except to make a eulogy. That George's eulogy was what it finally took for Ron to crack. That Hermione had to chase after Ron when he bolted, unwilling to let anyone see his tears until later that night when he couldn't help it anymore.

… Harry still has a pit in his stomach when he thinks of it, and he shifts on his cot, looking over at where Ron is sleeping uneasily. It seems like he's worse now too than before, and Harry wishes not for the first nor the fifteenth time that he could just _leave_.

But maybe he can. The funeral is over, he suddenly realizes, and he could have a legitimate reason to go. He needs to find out about arrangements for Lupin and Tonks. (Even though it would be just as simple to find out from here – this might be his one chance for a respite.)

He eases his way out of the room silently, holding his breath, trying not to aggravate Ron any further. The last thing he needs right now is to wake up and remember everything he wishes he could forget. Harry wishes he could too.

When he gets downstairs, he's relieved to see that no one else is there. He can just leave a note, slip out the door and apparate to – to where? Grimmauld Place, he guesses. Anywhere but here.

He's about to walk out the door when he hears a voice grumble from the corner of the room, "You really think this is the best idea, Harry?"

He freezes. No one was in here when he came downstairs. He's sure of it. But now Charlie is sitting up from where he was curled up in the armchair in the corner, and now Harry also sees that George is in the other chair, but he, at least, is still sleeping. Charlie glances at his younger brother, and Harry realizes that he's sleeping down there to keep an eye on George even if George still isn't talking to anyone. Charlie motions for Harry to follow him outside, and he does, each of them grabbing a coat as they go.

For a few minutes, neither of them speaks. Then Charlie asks, "Why are you going?"

Harry's breath catches in his throat. No one has asked him a direct question in days. He's not sure how to answer, but he finally manages to say, "I – I don't belong here. I can't help Ron; I can't help Ginny, and I can't stand to see them like – like this." He has to look away. This is the first time he's talked to anyone about this since Hermione cornered him at Hogwarts, and he's afraid to say another word.

"Harry," Charlie says softly, suddenly realizing that this kid is a lot more fragile than he seems. He tries to make his voice as gentle as possible. "Of course you belong here. Just having you here makes Ron and Ginny better. You might not see that, but the rest of us do. They need you."

Harry shakes his head quickly. He knows Charlie is trying to help, but he's wrong. They don't need him. They need each other.

"Why would they need _me_?" he asks roughly. He still refuses to look at Charlie, but he adds under his breath, "this whole thing is my fault anyway."

Charlie feels like he is frozen as he stares at the back of Harry's head. He is the wrong person to be having this conversation. He knew it when he saw Harry come down the stairs, but he also knew that he wasn't about to wake George for _any_ reason whatsoever. There is no help for it, though. He is the one standing here right now, and it's time for Harry to know the truth.

"This isn't your fault," he says, his voice even lower. "I'm the one who didn't even make it to Hogwarts in time for the Battle. If this is anyone's fault, Harry, it's mine."

Now Harry turns around. If there is one thing he can do here, it's let Charlie know the truth.

"No," he says, his voice strained. "If I'd gone into the forest sooner, the Battle would have ended before Fred – before anything bad could have happened. I was too scared."

Charlie puts his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Anyone would have been scared," he says seriously. "But you did what you had to, and then you saved Mum before You-Know – before Voldemort could kill her. Harry, this wasn't your fault. No matter what, Fred knew what could happen. Everyone did."

Harry stares at him. "Well, if that's true, then how can you think this is _your_ fault either?"

Now Charlie is speechless. Because while he's somehow managed to convince Percy that this isn't his fault, Percy hasn't been in any condition to turn this argument back on him, and this is the first time anyone has. He has no answer either. He stares at Harry and finally manages to choke, "that's different" before he turns around again. Now he's about to go back inside when Harry's voice stops him in his tracks.

"It isn't," he says urgently. This is his chance to finally do something right, and he won't let it go. "You were right, Charlie. Everyone did know what they were doing, and if I can't think of it as my fault, then you certainly can't think of it as yours. It's horrible, and it's unfair, but maybe –maybe it isn't anybody's fault. Maybe it's just the way it is."

Charlie can't turn around again. If he does, Harry will see the tears in his eyes, and no one can see that. He just nods and stumbles back into the house. He'll just go to his room and shut the door. He can hide in there. But he doesn't count on George being awake. And he's looking at Charlie now, and Charlie knows he can see the tears he can no longer control. He wants to go up the stairs, but his feet no longer want to work, and he finds himself stumbling back to the couch almost against his will. He slumps forward, hiding his face in his hands. He can't even look to see if Harry's followed him back in. He just wants everyone to leave him alone.

"He was right." It's George's voice, and now Charlie is forced to look up. He doesn't want to, but this is the first time in days that George has said anything other than the eulogy.

He looks at George and shakes his head. "You – you can say that?"

George swallows hard. "I hate it. I want him back. But I can't blame you or Harry or Percy or anybody. Like I don't think any of you would have saved him if you could? But if _I_ couldn't save him, Charlie, then I have to believe that nobody could."

He has to stop talking. He turns away from his older brother, trying to breathe deeply, to return to the state of numbness that's been the only thing saving him for the past week. But for some reason, he can't, and then Charlie's arm is around him, and he just – gives up. He turns and buries his face in his older brother's shoulder, and as his tears soak into Charlie's shirt, he is vaguely aware of Harry walking through the room on his way back up to Ron's. When he manages to take a breath, he mumbles to Charlie, "he didn't leave."

"Uh huh," Charlie mutters. He's glad he managed to do something right, and he's _really_ glad he's stopped crying, but he doesn't feel any better. He can't imagine that he ever will.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

**A/N: This could potentially be the last chapter unless anyone has any additional ideas. I do think it wraps things up pretty well, but I'd never say never. Please read and review. Thanks. :) Hope it's not TOO sad... though I don't hold out much hope for that.**

This is it, the last of these terrible days, the last of the funerals where he has to stand and look appropriately sober and dignified when all he really wants to do is curl up in a corner and howl. But he pulls on his dark robes, glances in the mirror and sighs. He can't wait until he can wear colors again – and then the guilt overwhelms him. How could he even think of something like that at a time like this? He catches sight of Ron's reflection in the corner of the mirror, and the guilt swallows him.

Ron is also pulling on his own dress robes, but he looks as if he is moving in a dream. In the three days since Fred's funeral, it's been impossible to get a word out of him or even get him to make direct eye contact. Hermione is the only person who seems to be able to get anywhere near him, and Harry wishes she were here right now as he watches Ron sink slowly back onto his bed as he stares into space. And there's nothing Harry can say.

Luckily, the door opens, and Ginny and Hermione walk in. Hermione and Harry glance at each other, and without another word, she moves to the bed quickly, sitting beside Ron. He doesn't look at her, but he grabs her hand and holds it tightly. She is his life preserver these days. And Harry has to gratefully acknowledge that he knows how that feels because he's finally allowing Ginny to be the same for him. Well, "allowing" would imply that he has a choice in the matter. He would never choose this.

While Ron seems to have retreated into a shell, the likes of which none of his family members have ever seen from him before, Ginny has found strength in the closure that Fred's funeral brought her. And as much as Harry hates to admit it, this couldn't have happened at a better time. Because as much as he was dreading Fred's funeral, and as horrible as it truly was, he has a huge pit in his stomach whenever he thinks of where they have to go today. Without Ginny's solid wall of understanding, he just might collapse.

They sit on his cot, facing Ron and Hermione. The only speech in the room is the small talk the girls manage to create, but that is quickly stifled when Molly calls to them. Exchanging looks of pure dread, the four friends rise to their feet and reluctantly make their way downstairs. Molly and Arthur are standing before the fireplace with floo powder at the ready. Percy, George, Bill, Fleur and Charlie are already there, waiting for them. Harry is slightly relieved to see that everyone else looks like they are dreading this just as much as he is. One by one, they disappear into the flames, and finally, it is his turn. He steps in, wishing he were going anywhere else, but there is no help for it as he says his destination in a flat, clear voice. If only he could end up in Knockturn Alley now…

But he arrives at Andromeda's house in one piece, and as he stumbles into her living room, brushing the dust off his robes, he is unsurprised to see a small crowd watching him. He tries to force a smile. The last thing he wants – and the only thing they all do want, he knows – is for these people to be able to read the emotions tumbling through him right now. Fortunately, Ginny is hot on his heels, and as soon as she stumbles to her feet behind him, he turns, grasping her to his side. He can't do this without her, and they both know it.

It isn't long before the service is to start, and Andromeda approaches Harry with the small bundle in her arms that he can barely look at. But he quietly takes Teddy in his arms. Ginny leans over to smile at the small face poking out of the blankets. Teddy is asleep, but even now, the small fluff of hair is a vibrant pink, and Harry can't help but smile. He is even starting to relax, but that is short lived because suddenly Andromeda is nodding at him, and he knows he has to bring Teddy to her. He also knows that she wants him to sit in the front row of the chairs that have been set up in the backyard. He casts a desperate look at Ginny, and she puts her arm around his waist. As he approaches Andromeda, he hands Teddy over, and she tries to smile.

"He's glad you're here, Harry," she says quietly. He looks at her skeptically. He's a baby, and he's asleep. He knows what she's trying to do, and he's grateful, but this is slightly ridiculous. But she holds his eyes, and suddenly he feels tears pricking the corners, and he blinks hard. She turns away, and Ginny takes his hand now, squeezing it tightly. He squeezes back. He won't let go. He can't.

Gently, Ginny leads him to seats in the first row. Hermione and Ron are already there waiting for them. Well, Hermione is waiting. Ron seems like he hardly knows where he is at all. Charlie is sitting on his other side, and he keeps glancing at him worriedly. Harry can't blame him. Every time he looks at Ron, he worries, and he feels even guiltier if that's at all possible. It's his fault that his best friend is so miserable, and there is no one who deserves to feel this way less than Ron. And today is not going to make any of this any easier.

The service starts, and it is the same little old wizard who must be having the worst summer Harry can imagine. He's been officiating at every funeral Harry has been to, and he can't imagine how he is managing to do all of this and stay in one piece. The more he speaks, the more Harry is afraid of breaking into a million pieces. But he can't. Because he knows that all of the people in the rows behind him are waiting for just that, and he refuses to give in. Not here, not now.

But it's getting harder because now, it's that horrible moment when there is nothing more to say, and nothing hurts Harry more than this silence. The last thing he wants these days is to be left alone with his thoughts. Memories from his third year at Hogwarts start rumbling through his mind, and he remembers all of those times Lupin patiently sat with him, trying to explain the intricacies of Patronuses, telling him about James and Lily… now his eyes are burning again, and he has to stare down at his lap. He knows Ginny can hear his unsteady breathing because her grip on his hand tightens. He thinks he has managed to master his emotions when he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye, and he looks up quickly. He wishes he hadn't.

Ron has leaned forward in his seat and is holding his head in his hands. Even though he isn't making a sound, Hermione is rubbing his back in small, soothing circles as silent tears drip down her face. Harry lets out a shaky breath, and Ginny wraps her own arms around him. When the service ends, the rest of the Weasleys go back to the house although they all keep looking back at Ron nervously. He hasn't moved, though, and Hermione is still rubbing his back. It isn't until everyone else is out of earshot that Ginny speaks.

"They're all gone now," she mumbles, and she's looking directly at Ron. He seems to know this somehow, and he finally raises his head. His eyes are dry, but the pain in them hits Harry like a physical blow. Ginny, too, seems to be at a loss for words. Her own eyes fill, and Ron stares at her for a long moment before he whispers something none of them hears.

"What?" Ginny asks, and Ron clears his throat. His voice is hoarse when says, "Fred—Fred really isn't ever coming back, is he?"

Ginny shakes her head now, and her eyes are filling even as the tears well up in Ron's at last. "No," she whispers, and something inside Ron breaks. As the tears start to roll down his face, Ginny lets go of Harry's hand and puts her arms around her older brother. He buries his face in her shoulder, trying not to think about the fact that he is crying into Ginny's shoulder. Or that Harry and Hermione are both sitting there. Or that there is potentially a large group of people watching them from the house. None of that matters right now.

Harry is biting his lip when he realizes that Hermione is shaking with silent sobs beside him as she watches Ron cry in his sister's arms. Without a second thought, he puts his arm around her, and even though they are all crying now, he suddenly feels like a small weight has been lifted. He's helping. It helps.


	12. Epilogue

**A/N: ****For**** some reason, it didn't feel finished. Maybe it's because JJ Rust mentioned Colin, and I really do think he did deserve some kind of mention. In any case, here's the epilogue. Now it's REALLY finished.**

Six months have passed. Every day is supposed to be easier than the last, but it isn't. Maybe some days are easier, but Harry can't help but wonder where that lightening is, when he's going to have that moment when the weight finally lifts off his heart. He doesn't know if there's anything he can do to help speed this process. But Ginny does.

On the day she arrives in Ron's room at 6am to wake him, he knows it's the six month anniversary of the Battle – everyone knows that – but she doesn't mention it at all. She doesn't have to. The whiteness of her face and the tiny lines around her mouth are enough. He sits up on his cot and pulls her into his arms for a moment, and she lets him hold her, briefly, before pulling away and telling him to get dressed quickly. There is someplace she wants to take him.

They manage to slip away from the Burrow with no one noticing – Harry has no idea how no one else is awake yet, but he also knows this is why they are awake so early. He doesn't ask her any questions, though. It's clear that she's not in the mood to talk today. They walk until they are out of the Burrow's protective enchantments.

"Take my arm," she says quietly, and he complies even though he is getting increasingly confused. Moments later, he looks around and realizes they are in Hogsmeade, and his stomach turns to ice. He doesn't want to go back to Hogwarts yet – he's not ready – but he can think of no other reason why Ginny's brought him here. But he takes one look at the quiet determination on her face and knows that he has no choice but to follow wherever she leads him – no matter how hard it may be.

Before long, they are standing before the Memorial Wall, and he's more than grateful that no one else is there. Because Ginny's grip on his hand has grown viselike, and he looks now at where she is looking.

_Fred Weasley_

As he stares at the name, Ginny's other hand drifts up to trace the letters, and they blur before his eyes. Impatiently, he swipes his other hand across his eyes as he finally notices the other names.

_Remus __Lupin__… __Nymphadora__Tonks__Lupin__ … Colin __Creevey__…_

Colin Creevey … suddenly, he feels his breathing coming in quick short gasps. How could he not have thought of Colin in all of these months? Colin, who used to follow him around, Colin, who came back to fight, Colin, who never should have been here in the first place…

He drops Ginny's hand and covers his face, turning away from the wall. He can't bear to look any longer. But then Ginny is tugging gently at his arms, forcing his hands away from his face, and he looks at her, blearily.

"I didn't bring you here to make you sad," she says. "Look at this wall. Look!"

And he has no choice. His eyes are still full of tears, but he turns back. Her voice continues, but it is softer.

"All of these people, Harry – they fought for a better world. And now we get to live in it. For you to feel guilty – for you to feel like you are somehow responsible for their deaths – well, it dishonors them, Harry. It minimizes what they did. Look around. Think about what this place looked like six months ago. Look at what their sacrifice did. Now no one will have to have a year at Hogwarts like you had. These students are living in a time of peace, and it's thanks to you, and it's thanks to all of the people whose names are on this wall. So don't do this anymore, ok? Because it makes what they did seem less than what it was. And – and I won't let you do that to my brother."

She has stayed calm throughout this speech, but her voice cracks on the last word, and Harry pulls her into his arms for the second time that day. Now they are both crying, but Harry whispers, "I'm sorry. You're right. Fred is a hero. I won't try to take that away from him again."

She nods against his chest, but she lets him hold her, and she holds him until they are both calmer.

Before they leave, they look once more at the wall. Harry suddenly realizes that he feels pride. And it doesn't hurt.


End file.
